


In This Life

by twiceshy (oncebitten)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Immortality, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncebitten/pseuds/twiceshy
Summary: Taeyong promises not to get involved when the man he used to love is reborn. Life has other plans.





	In This Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ponkko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponkko/gifts).



> to d, a giant heart emoji in my life.
> 
> this wasn't what you asked for (though you didn't ask for anything) but i hope you don't hate it. ily xxx

_He_ crossed Taeyong's path on an autumn day. He was in a school uniform with a scarf around his neck. His hair was dyed auburn, lifted by a breeze.

 

Taeyong had been on the way home from visiting his publisher. He illustrated comics for a living. It wasn't the best meeting as they never gave feedback without critique, but he wasn't invested enough in his own career to feel pressured by the fact. He'd comply and make the necessary changes, and he'd get his money's due. It was simple.

 

He hadn't been in his usual part of town that day. He lived in the artistic enclaves of the city, run-down and graffiti-vibrant with new cafés opening and shutting every other week, while his publisher ran their magazine in the grey skyline at the outskirts of the city centre.

 

Taeyong had been at a bus stop. He didn't have a car because he spent enough time on his own as it was.

 

Then  _he_ had walked past.

 

A breathing mirage; a picture from the dreams so good he never wanted to wake up again - the same lurid dreams that hurt so much that he was afraid to sleep...It wasn't like fate. It was as though the world had taken too long to put them together, and then got it all wrong when it finally did. Again he was met with futility, with impossibility.

 

He was as tall and lean like he used to be. His eyes darted around, always noticing, his mind sharp as a knife. He'd always been smart. But he was so young. In Taeyong's memory of him, Doyoung had grown a long way out adolescence.

 

Taeyong wondered if he still went by the same name.

 

There was magic to him that Taeyong's mind couldn't capture, try as he might in his years of obsession. He was beautiful, and in another life he had perhaps been more beautiful still.

 

Taeyong's eyes followed him, along the pavement beside the road. They narrowed against the glare of afternoon light, and lost him when he turned a corner. All that remained was the scent of exhaust gas and floaters dancing behind his eyelids when he cast his eyes away from the Sun's harshness. The boy had gone without a trace, and Taeyong knew in the depths of his heart that they would never meet again. This last sight was more than he had ever dared to hope for.

 

* * *

 

Finesse in handling making optimal decisions wasn't something you gained purely with age - Taeyong could vouch for that much. Deep in thought, he twirled his stylus between dexterous fingers (trained out of boredom, not a natural gift), and wondered how ought to deal with all of it. His tablet screen lit up his room with artificial lighting, a collection of incongruous comic panels on display. It had been minutes since he added a stroke to his work.

 

He was distracted.

 

His mind flitted to the windswept strands of Doyoung's hair. He had it cut short, and he looked clean. He'd never looked like that before but it was appealing. Taeyong's tastes weren't immune to the dictates of trend, and his modern sensitivities liked the ultra-sanitary appearance urban folk touted. He'd always cared about things like that, but it wasn't until the second half of the twentieth century that taking showers more than once a day seemed convenient enough to be justifiable. Doyoung's skin was pale and dewy, well taken care of and certainly the face of a city boy who spent more time indoors than out. He fitted into the era, where Taeyong was just pretending.

 

Taeyong itched to draw him, like he had over and over again over his decades.

 

Taeyong had been made immortal against his will and he hadn't adapted to it well. Art had helped. He had too much time to hone his skill and he’d used it well. He had made images of his past that grew more and more lifelike as his existence grew further from it. It rooted him. He’d drawn his parents, his neighbours, some old shops and his old house, but it was Doyoung who had been the subject of his best works.

 

In his youth, the old Doyoung was his best friend. They'd shared a childhood, and he'd kept Taeyong feeling needed for most of his years while he suffered from neglect at home. Almost up until the very last moment they spent together, he'd thrived under the belief that he was special to Doyoung, and he would be forever grateful for that. It meant a lot to be a treasured person to someone else and he had thought himself to be that once.

 

Doyoung used to greet him with a smile. The new Doyoung, in the meantime, hadn't given Taeyong a glance that day.

 

He puffed out a breath of air and slumped against the table. This wasn't his friend from his time and it was unreasonable for to expect that it would be. This one was a boy born into a new life. Yet, Taeyong was drawn to him all the same. He wanted to seek the boy out and tell him things about them both. He wanted his attention almost as badly as he wanted it from his childhood friend.

 

But he wouldn't. It wasn't fair either to this boy or the person in his memories.

 

His fingers stopped as he leaned backwards and shut his eyes with a deep sigh. A self-deprecating smirk decorated his face. Always, would that boy who never loved him find new ways to torture him.

 

The image of Doyoung burned more brightly behind his closed eyelids, and he marvelled at him for a while. He sighed again, a touch too darkly to be wistful. He still wanted to draw him, but he wouldn't. This new boy was too human to be used as a coping mechanism and Taeyong wasn't exactly floundering for his sanity anymore. He didn't need him.

 

Carelessly, he tossed his stylus to the table and got to his feet. He hit the switch for the lights as he went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of milk. His house lit up and he was clearly alone.

 

* * *

 

It had always been the proclivity of Taeil to take Taeyong by surprise but he predictably showed up every time a major development occurred in Taeyong's life, so this time he anticipated the encounter. Still, he was shocked when Taeil finally showed up a few days later.

 

Part of the paid artist life involved making midnight runs to the convenience store for snacks and weak canned coffee on a regular basis. He might have been making generalisations for the rest of them, but he had also had sufficient run-ins with people who shared his profession to believe he was right. Personally though, he had difficulty waking and sleeping by the Sun and there wasn't anyone to reign in his living patterns for him.

 

Taeil was waiting for him at the lift landing of his floor when he got home after one such coffee run. He stood with his nose almost to the door of the lift, and Taeyong collided with him as he took his reflexive steps out. He jumped involuntarily. Taeil grinned.

 

"You-" Taeyong gasped, then grimaced at his heart that wouldn't slow down. "You have got to stop doing that."

 

Taeil had a face like a cherub. It promised happiness and simplicity, and it couldn't have fit him less.

 

"Saw you met someone," he said brightly as Taeyong scowled. Taeil walked alongside Taeyong down the corridor towards his unit. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, entirely unbothered by the chill.

 

"Yes, and stop stalking me. You and I are _both_ not going to do anything about it." Taeil's grin grew, but Taeyong held his ground. "We're not," he insisted.

 

"Okaayyy," Taeil sang, sounding commendably insincere. Taeyong sighed exasperatedly. He'd have to try harder to keep tabs on Taeil this time or he was bound to do something stupid on his behalf. 

 

Taeil did not make a move to leave when Taeyong got to his door. Instead, he grinned expectantly. Taeyong was very, very grateful that he had not taken his collection of Doyoung portraits out of storage while pondering appropriate methods of disposal, for there was not a chance that Taeil would let the matter rest if he saw them.

 

"Come in for a drink then, since you're here," Taeyong said out of propriety. He banished the hope of meeting his publisher's deadline without pulling an all-nighter and massaged his temples as Taeil entered his house without removing his socks at the door. It was going to be a long night.

 

Taeil flicked the correct switches to turn on the lights and the fan and sank into Taeyong's favourite sofa seat as though it were his own.

 

"Coffee please," Taeil called.

 

"Have you seen the time?" Taeyong grumbled, but he tossed him a can. He took another with him and sat at the other end of the sofa.

 

"Hypocrite," Taeil snorted. Taeyong shrugged and raised an eyebrow as he took a slow sip from his can. "That face is not as cool as you think," Taeil said, but he laughed.

 

"Liar," Taeyong muttered. "Quick, just talk about what you came here for and let me do my work."

 

"I _still_ don't understand why you work," Taeil remarked. "It's not like we have to."

 

"It's just a thing I do," Taeyong said, unwilling to get into psychoanalysing his motivations again. Taeil was one person who had known him for too long and knew him far too well. He had more interest in Taeyong's thoughts than Taeyong was comfortable with. He saw Taeil open his mouth to argue and interrupted quickly; _"please_ get to the point."

 

Taeil made a big show of sighing disapprovingly about Taeyong's impatience. Then he put his feet up on the middle seat and nudged Taeyong's thigh with a socked foot. Taeyong grimaced.

 

"See, I have a theory. You ever think of soulmates?" Taeil whispered conspiringly.

 

Taeyong looked away. "No, we're not doing this."

 

Taeil's grin faded. "But-"

 

_"No."_

 

"Aren't you interested?" Taeil asked, confused.

 

 _No,_  Taeyong wanted to say again, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to lie convincingly. No matter what he said, Taeil would be able to deduce the truth. He wanted...he _more_  so badly.

 

"Interest has nothing to do with it," he said, "it's just...not happening."

 

Taeil fell silent. It wasn't something that happened frequently, and Taeyong didn't know what he ought to say to him. They sat in tense silence until Taeil finished his coffee and tossed the can into the bin from where it was sitting. The can soared in a perfect arc and landed where it was supposed to.

 

"Nice shot," Taeil declared.

 

"Not bad," Taeyong agreed.

 

Taeil grinned tentatively. "You should try," he said ambiguously.

 

"Tossing my can?"

 

"If that's all you want to try, sure."

 

Taeyong laughed and drained the last of his coffee. His can clattered around the edge of the bin before it fell in.

 

"Not bad," Taeil said again. Taeyong smiled faintly.

 

"It really isn't," he said.

 

Taeil nudged him gently with his foot. "You happy?"

 

Taeyong nodded noncommittally. "Yeah. Don't worry about me."

 

"'kay," Taeil said softly. He got to his feet and looked around Taeyong's apartment. "You know, I half expected to see all his pictures around when I got here."

 

"I'm better than that," Taeyong lied, and from the twinkle in Taeil's eyes he realised it. "I'm getting rid of them," Taeyong vocalised so that he would be held to his own intent.

 

"Want help?"

 

Taeyong nodded. "Yeah. Think Jaehyun would be up for it?"

 

A look of comprehension crossed Taeil's face. "Arson. That's final."

 

"Yeah."

 

Taeil seemed sad to hear it, but a little proud at the same time, and there was a little bit of something else in his expression that Taeyong couldn't place a finger on. He clasped Taeyong on the shoulder, hand warm, firm, and assuring, whatever was holding Taeyong stable in his ability to manage his emotions wavered a little.

 

"Good luck," Taeil said.

 

"Thank you."

 

He let go and turned to make his leave. Taeyong trailed after him to the front door. He waited patiently as Taeil stuffed his feet into his shoes, which took a little while as they had been laced tightly. His apartment seemed large and empty behind his back, and perhaps he wasn't as used to it as he believed.

 

"I'll drop by soon," Taeil promised. Taeyong smiled genuinely.

 

"I'll see you."

 

Taeil straightened up and took a few small steps away. "You seem well. I'm glad."

 

Taeyong inclined his head in acknowledgement.

 

"Alright then," Taeil said, and turned around to leave. When Taeyong was fiddling with his keys to lock the gate behind him, he halted to call back to him. "His name's still the same, just so you know!"

 

"Shut up, stalker!" Taeyong called back, but his heart rate sped up, because no matter what he said or what he intended to do, he cared. He slammed the door shut.

 

Doyoung's name didn't make a difference. It would not matter.

 

With hands that shook, he took out his phone to send Jaehyun a summoning text. It would be truly final by then.

 

* * *

 

Jaehyun texted back to say that he was abroad but would drop by when he got home. Taeyong tried to go about life as usual in the meantime. He made his deadlines, drew pictures for all the asinine slice-of-life nonsense because he was good at it, tried to sleep every night and wake up every day and all that. Somewhere along the line, he realised that his days were pretty devoid of meaningful activity and wondered how he could do something about it. Something about having an infinite amount of time to live made it a challenge.

 

Doyoung crossed his mind often for sure, but he kept himself busy and it wasn’t so bad.

 

A couple of weeks later, Taeyong returned home from the supermarket to find his front door unlocked. He immediately knew who to expect as well as where to find him. The only other person with a key to Taeyong's house was Jaehyun. It was not because he was Taeyong's favourite, but because giving him one was less troublesome than having to replace the locks every time he stopped by. That was not to say, however, that he wasn't Taeyong's favourite. It was complicated.

 

Taeyong kept his things away quietly, then went to his studio. He found Jaehyun standing in front of his latest painting, studying it. The curtains were drawn. He only spoke when Taeyong's door shut with a click. They all had their own complexes about enclosed spaces.  

 

"I heard you met him," Jaehyun said.

 

"I have," Taeyong replied. "Taeil told you? How is he?"

 

Jaehyun laughed humourlessly. "You know how he gets after he sees you. You're trouble."

 

According to Jaehyun, Taeyong shifted Taeil off balance. Taeyong wasn’t completely sure why he thought that because Taeil seemed pretty happy every time he showed up.

 

Jaehyun went back to studying Taeyong's painting - a depiction of the interior of a dark gothic room, not close to his best or his most inspired. It wasn't what he wanted to paint after all and it was clear to see. His strokes were fine and detailed, however, and he didn't mind talking about them. Sometimes Jaehyun discussed technical aspects of Taeyong's art and they talked around what was really shown. It still wasn't a process he loved. There was too much of his mental state laid out on canvas for him to be comfortable with it.

 

He and Jaehyun kept each other at an arm’s length, and he wasn’t sure which of them was more responsible for it. Of all the immortal people Taeyong knew, Jaehyun was the best at pretending to fit into social spaces like a normal person. However, he was also the most weary of mortal humans. Yet at the same time, he was greedy for normal emotions, as people always are for things that overwhelm them.

 

Jaehyun treaded a thin line between true normality and complete pretense; between _feeling_ and not feeling at all. Taeyong could only guess how much of it was an act and how much was him truly integrating and getting swept up in human experiences - love and heartbreak and urgency and responsibility. Jaehyun spent so much time getting close to mortals that Taeyong doubted he had time to reflect on it. Then inevitably, he would remain too young to go on unsuspected in whatever niche he had carved out for himself in others' lives and have to cut ties painfully.

 

Towards people like Taeyong, he was reserved. It was the fear of permanence, probably. He'd never be able to get rid of Taeyong with good reason, and a closer relationship would be irreversible.

 

A long time ago when Taeyong was still in captivity, he'd painted all of them, for want of anything better to do. He'd drawn them with warm eyes and content smiles. Taeil, Jaehyun, Yuta, Ten, and Himself. On canvas they had been unguarded with each other. They'd been friends.

 

He didn't know why he painted them that way, but he did. Jaehyun had seen it and his reaction had been visceral; a knife through canvas before he could think any better of it. The cloth curled up inwards where it had been cut.

 

Taeyong destroyed the picture afterwards. They never spoke of the incident again.

 

"Have you ever hated him- Doyoung?" Jaehyun asked, still looking intently at the painting. He dragged a finger the over bumps of acrylic paint, left to dry unevenly for tactile effect.

 

"'course I have," Taeyong said softly. Jaehyun was surprised enough to turn and look at him, an eyebrow raised. "I've felt a lot of things about him. It was a long time."

 

"Then why...?"

 

Why had Taeyong sacrificed his mortality to protect his? Dedicated years of artistic development to illustrating the same person? Taeyong shrugged. It had been completely thankless.

 

Jaehyun walked around the room to look at Taeyong's other art pieces, deep in thought.

 

He stopped by a watercolour of the seaside at night in Okinawa framed up. It was a nostalgic piece. Jaehyun had never seen that one, but they'd been there together. Taeyong had travelled to search for meaning, and Jaehyun had followed. Okinawa was the last night of their travel together before Jaehyun abandoned him to figure out the world on his own.

 

At the time they'd been there, not much time had passed since blood was shed there. There had been a war, and Taeyong had been ignorant through it all. For the early years of his immortality, he had been shut off from civilisation, through no choice of his own, and Jaehyun had informed him of what he missed when he was let out.

 

The sea was beautiful when they went. Taeyong could still remember it vividly: the deep blue of the sea when the sky had yet to dim completely though the sun had fallen below the horizon; the taste of salt in the air and the itch of sand stuck to his feet; the sound of waves crashing as the tide crept higher through the day. It was a beautiful place, if your mind didn't keep conjuring the scent of iron and bloodstains on sand that weren't really there anymore. He still associated the scent of the sea with freedom and death. His art was an expense of blue and purple swirls and dark shadows in the sand.

 

Jaehyun didn't comment on his skill. He was silent until he looked away from it.

 

"Taeil said you had something to burn?" he asked.

 

Taeyong nodded. "How do you feel about getting rid of the Doyoung collection?"

 

This made Jaehyun smile. "Saturday night if it doesn't rain. I'll be here."

 

* * *

 

Jaehyun showed up at his apartment on Saturday as promised, with everything they needed to build a fire at the backseat of his car. They hauled Taeyong's potraits into his car. Taeyong refused to look at them, careful to hold each canvas work with the painted side down. The contents of the sketches and scrolls were easier to ignore. Jaehyun in contrast studied every piece before loading it into the boot. Taeyong looked pointedly at the ground as he did.

 

The process took longer that Taeyong would have liked. Eventually, they settled into the front seats, prepared for a long trip into the sparsely populated countryside.

 

To Taeyong, Jaehyun's car was like a little box. It was smaller than a prison cell but Taeyong didn't hate it. It made all the difference, being there on your own volition and being able to see the world go by. The discreet Civic hummed quietly all the way, and cars passed loudly as their wheels rolled against rough tar.

 

Jaehyun buzzed with energy. He was disciplined about it, but he had a very strong pyromaniac streak that reared its head when set free. Taeyong planned to let him do all the work.

 

The twinkle of streetlamps guided them through the busy city in the night, crossing into empty country roads where lanes were only made visible by reflectors on the ground. Then there were fewer of those as well.

 

Taeyong stared outside wordlessly. It was earlier than his usual bedtime, but he was already exhausted. The drive felt endless, and he was impatient for it to end. The prospect of burning his memories filled him with some dread, but waiting for it to be done while knowing it was going to happen was worse.

 

To his credit, Jaehyun didn't try to make conversation with him. Some time later, he pulled up into an empty field and stopped the car. He busied himself taking the materials he needed from the boot. Taeyong hung around and watched. He knew a little about the process, but he wasn't interested in helping. This wasn't the first time they'd gotten rid of things important to them in this manner.

 

The same field had contained one of their bonfires before and ashes had left the ground more fertile for growth. It was a cycle.

 

Jaehyun set about digging a shallow pit in the field, clearing the area of grass, while Taeyong surrounded it with stones Jaehyun had brought along. They were quick to get it right.

 

When the set-up was complete, Jaehyun arranged dried hay at the centre if the circle and built a pyramid above it with dry wood. He built it meticulously, shifting strands of dried grass to sit at precise angles, though it looked no different to Taeyong. Eventually satisfied, Jaehyun lit a match against the hay at the bottom, and stepped away to a safe distance.

 

The fire spread perfectly. He tossed in more fuel to keep in growing. When it was large enough, he brought the artwork from the car.

 

"Want to do the honours?" he asked, the first time he spoke that night.

 

"I'll pass, thanks," Taeyong answered. His voice sounded distant to his own ears. Jaehyun nodded understandingly.

 

He fed the work to the flames one by one, starting with the small sketches, then the long scrolls, done in traditional ink and rolled up. Smoke rose up, grey trails illuminated by orange firefight following the direction of wind. Beads of sweat built up at the back of his neck. Jaehyun inhaled the smoke like an addict; savoured the stifling air and the cackle of the fire as embers flew about.

 

Eventually, he ran out of the pieces that were easy to manage. He began to lower in canvas pieces still on their frames, allowing each be consumed by the fire before he lowered a new one in.

 

Decades upon decades' worth of work, devotion, and admiration, all gone in one fell swoop. It was appropriate, Taeyong supposed. Any other way and he would have too much time to reflect. This was the cleanest cut he could administer. He didn't give any of his pieces a final look. They'd all remain in his memory in a blur, and he hoped he never regained the details of them.

 

Jaehyun watched with eyes darkened with undiluted focus. He stood far too close to the fire, where the air was so hot it should have blistered his skin if they were people who could get hurt. Taeyong let him have his fun. He looked happy. Taeyong wondered if this particular bonfire had a greater meaning to him as well.

 

When the stash of artwork ran out, Taeyong took a few steps backwards to a spot where the heat was bearable. Sweat matted his hair and stuck his clothes to his skin. His heart thumped strong and hard, driven by residual adrenaline. His hands were damp. It felt as though there was an empty space within him.

 

He usually watched their fires until they whittled down small enough to be put out easily, but he didn't have it in him to stay this time. He wrangled the key out of Jaehyun's hand and sat in the passenger's seat, allowing Jaehyun to witness the end on his own. He didn't know how long it would take. It didn't really matter.

 

When the last trace of artwork whittled down to ash, the fire dwindled down. Jaehyun extinguished the last whispers of flame. Sounds of dull splashes reached Taeyong's ears as Jaehyun emptied bottles of water over heated stones to help them cool. He surveyed the land to make sure if was damp and safe. Jaehyun indulged in his vices responsibly.

 

Taeyong was too emotionally burnt-out to do anything. He watched motionlessly as Jaehyun loaded the empty bottles and stones back into his car with the help of a flashlight.

 

Jaehyun sprinkled flower seeds over damp ashes. Sometimes they germinated and thrived. There were also times where weeds and grass invaded the space instead. Either way, the cycle of life continued.

 

Taeyong didn't speak when Jaehyun got into the car. He never did when Jaehyun was on an emotional high.

 

"It's over," Jaehyun said with satisfaction as he got into the car. Taeyong nodded. Jaehyun reached over to put a hand over his, and Taeyong realised that his own were clammy with cold sweat. He yearned to free them from Jaehyun's grasp to dry against his shirt. "Thank you for the experience," Jaehyun added warmly and let go.

 

"Thanks," was as much as Taeyong managed to say.

 

"Let's get us home," Jaehyun said and took one last satisfied sigh. He fastened his seatbelt and started up the car. The headlamps cast a light on the remains, memoirs of Taeyong's old friend cleared to free him for a new life.

 

Taeyong allowed himself one last fleeting thought of the young man he'd encountered and hoped that he would live well. If everything went right, he would never find out.

 

Jaehyun reversed out of the clearing and got back to the country road.

 

It felt like the end of a chapter. For lives that never ended, that could only mean the start of a new phase.

 


End file.
